


Taboo

by malchanceux



Category: Bleach
Genre: Always A Girl Ichigo Kurosaki, Angst, Deception, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Romance, Rule 63, girl ichigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: The war between Hueco Mundo and Soul Society has raged over a span of years. Victory is not so easily won over an organization that has survived centuries and countless enemies. But Sousuke Aizen had planned for this, and while his Espada fight to slowly gain ground, he turns to a more personal front: legacy.A deal is struck between the King of Heuce Mundo and a hostage Inoue Orihime, a negotiation that will ring shrill through a generation to come, with consequences for parties not yet alive to consent.////////Dedication can be isolating. Ichigo Kurosaki learns this the hard way, well into her college career and incredibly lonely. Between work, extra circulars, and the general grunt work of a pre-med degree she finds she has few friends and a barren love life.Enter the handsome and curious Sousuke Aizen: part time substitute professor and full time enigma. His soft smiles and gentle nature coaxes Ichigo close, closer than anyone ever before. But not all stories get a happy ending, as Ichigo quickly discovers. Some epilogues are a little more... ambiguous.////////In other words: the fucked up pseudo incest-romance between Sousuke Aizen and Ichigo Kurosaki no one actually asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A work that will be incredibly slowly updated.

 

 

 

 

 

It rains at Ichigo’s high school graduation. She finds it fitting, like the world around her was trying to reflect the grey turmoil she felt within. 

It is a sudden storm that catches everyone by surprise. In the middle of the ceremony--students still crossing the raised platform to collect their diplomas--the sky opens up. Faculty and families scatter like frightened rodents, bolting for the safety of the school's cafeteria. 

Ichigo stands in the midst of the chaos, her diploma already in hand. She does not move, just lets the rain pour down. The fat droplets were cold, a nice reprieve from the heat of spring. The leather booklet her diploma had been framed with protected the paper within. The blonde found no reason to stir, to rouse herself like the rest of the panicked flock.

Ichigo watches as one of the mothers in the audience calls out, face lit with anxiety.

_ “Kai!”  _ She yelled, searching the crowd.  _ “Kai?” _

A petite brunette comes to the woman's side. Ichigo recognizes the girl as one of her classmates.

_ “I’m here, mama,”  _ the brunette said, gripping gently at her mother’s arm.

_ “Oh lord,”  _ the woman’s anxiety slips away, replaced by a proud, soft smile.  _ “My little graduate. You’re all soaking wet. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.” _

A guiding hand steers the brunette toward the cafeteria, along with the rest of the crowd. The woman is careful to keep her daughter close, her instincts protective even in the face of something so mundane as a washed out graduation ceremony. 

For a moment, Ichigo lets her mind wander, lets herself imagine what it would be like to be in Kai’s shoes. Wet and cold from the rain, could she feel the heat of her mother’s guiding embrace? Did Kai feel her mother’s anxiety as she called out for her; or the relief Kai’s mother felt when she found her? In that moment, did Kai understand everything she had; did she recognize what it felt like to bare the brunt of the kind of possessive love only a parent could have for their child?

Jealousy, coloured a sickly green and haloed by an angry red, burns in Ichigo’s chest; brings her back to herself. 

There is a warm wetness at her cheek, a contrast to the cool rain soaking through to her bones. Tears hidden by the storm.

“Ichigo!” a shrill, feminine voice calls from the crowd. “Ichigo, what are you doing standing there in the rain?”

The blonde turned to face her foster guardian, Tamaka Sho; the older woman stood with an umbrella clutched in a white-knuckled grip, her expression warning of her rising temper. She motioned towards the cafeteria with a sharp jerk of her hand.

“Sorry,” Ichigo said, and only then did her feet begin to carry her towards the school. “Coming!”

“Ridiculous, child,” Mrs. Sho fretted as the dried off in the cafeteria. “Smart enough to earn yourself a scholarship, but no sense to get out of the rain. I think my shoes might be ruined because of you.”

Ichigo glanced down at the sodden suede sandals on her guardians feet.

“Sorry, Mrs. Sho. I got caught up in the crowd. I couldn’t find you.”

“You didn’t need to find me, just the damn door.”

“Right,” Ichigo said, head down in an attempt to demure. “I'll do better next time.”

“See that you do.”

It rains for the rest of the ceremony, a hodge podged thing wracked with stuttered speeches and mispronounced surnames. Throughout, Ichigo stares--transfixed--at Kai and her mother; sitting three rows in front of her, holding each other's hand in a loose embrace, as though the affection an afterthought.

  
  
  
  


In the dead of night, when Ichigo is sure Mrs. Sho is not awake, she pulls out a worn, folded picture of her birth mother.

She was beautiful. It was hard for Ichigo to admit this fact years ago, when she was younger and bitter and didn’t understand that life wasn’t easy and sometimes people had very good reasons to give up their children. The older Ichigo got, the more she thought she resembled the thin, happy woman staring happily at whoever happened to snap the shot. Their facial structure was dead on, though Ichigo must have inherited her brown eyes from her father. Ichigo’s hair was also strawberry blonde, where her mother’s was a vibrant red.

_ ‘Orihime’  _ was scrawled in dark pen on the back, the name faded from time and Ichigo’s bad habit of rubbing at it whenever she pulled the photo out.

It was not an unusual name. Once, in middle school, when Ichigo was in a particularly bad place, she tried finding an Orihime who looked like her mother through social media. It had ended with no search results that led to anything other than Ichigo in a bout of frustrated tears.

For all she knew, her  _ Orihime  _ was dead.

  
  
  
  


 

Somewhere inside herself, Ichigo knew this not to be true. Her mother was alive. Ichigo knew this as a fact she could only feel, not prove. There was a tether between her soul and the presence of her mother’s existence; casting the warm glow of life  _ somewhere _ , however distant or close.

With the same, inexplicable connection, Ichigo felt intangible frays of a bond to someone she would have called  _ ‘father’. _

  
  
  
  


 

The day after her graduation, Mrs. Sho announces that Ichigo will have to start thinking about gathering the funds she would need to move out.

“I don’t want you getting lazy,” the old woman said as way of explanation. “So many kids these days just sit at home. You have your scholarship, now you need a job. You’ll thank me one day, you’ll see.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ichigo says. “I understand.”

She doesn’t bother mentioning that she had been applying for work for the last two weeks anyway, or that she had an interview for that afternoon. She doesn’t tell Mrs. Sho she never planned on staying with her for any length of time after high school, or how most of her things were already packed and ready to go under her bed.

From the years of living under Ms. Tamaka Sho’s roof, Ichigo knew what kind of manipulations she liked to play at. Now that Ichigo was just peeking over the edge of adulthood, she was nearly no longer a legal responsibility. At any time Sho could evict her. 

Mrs. Sho gives Ichigo an incredulous look over her morning coffee, but doesn’t comment on Ichigo’s easy agreeance. Compliance was not the blondes usual reaction.

Breakfast ends over a tense silence, broken only by polite sips of black coffee and the crunch of bland cereal flakes.

  
  
  
  


 

Kisuke’s Kandy Shoppe is everything Ichigo needs and absolutely nothing that she expects. When she walks into the store for her first interview, she is greeted enthusiastically by a shaggy man in a dark, wrinkled kimono and a funny striped hat. 

“Name’s Urahara,” the man says, shaking her hand in an obnoxiously loose grip. She notes his hands are clammy and his breath is sour from too much sugar. “I’ll be conducting your interview today.”

The interview itself goes sideways. The man, Urahara, asks the most absurd questions.

“What is your favourite colour?”

“Uh,” Ichigo says, flustered by nerves and the randomness of the inquiry. “Purple?”

The man  _ ‘hmmm’s’  _ thoughtfully, as though that actually meant something, his eyes hidden under the brim of his hat.

“What is the first memory you have of eating candy?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ichigo says at first, but her only answer is just a stretch of silence and an awkward stare from who she is assuming is some kind of manager of the store. “Um, well--I stole a starburst from a bully in kindergarten. That’s the first thing that really comes to mind.”

“How would you go about selling a chocolate bar to a man who is  _ allergic _ to said chocolate bar?”

“I wouldn’t?” Again, her answer only earns her an expectant stare. As though she hadn’t replied at all--and maybe to this man, who clearly was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, she hadn’t. 

“I mean, couldn’t the store be liable to a lawsuit or something? I feel like that’s not ethical and wouldn’t make that man want to be a repeat customer.”

Another moment of stale silence. Ichigo scrunches her brows in thought, and opens her mouth to say something else when the man abruptly starts to pat her on the back, a toothy grin splitting his lips.

“Great answers! Great answers!” Urahara cheers, his exaggerated patting jarring and a little painful. “You’re hired!”

“Wait, what?” Ichigo gives the man a look of utter confusion. “That was only three questions and I--you didn’t even look at my resume!”

“No need, you said you can work full time and that’s what we’re looking for.”

“Surely dozens of students applied willing to work full time.”

“Yes, but none of them liked the colour green.”

“I said my favourite color was purple.”

“Did you?”

“I--” Ichigo stops herself, flabbergasted but also unsure if she should be arguing against her apparent employment. “When do I start?”

“Now?” Urahara reaches into a box and pulls out a green apron, the stores logo, a diamond with a lollipop in the middle, brandishing the front of it.

“Okay.” Ichigo says, pulling on the apron and completely, utterly lost. “Isn’t there paperwork I need to sign?”

A beat of silence.

“Wait, what about my hourly wage!”

“Oh right,” Urahara says, scratching his stubbled chin in thought. “I forgot about all those little details.”

Somehow, despite how erratic the man seemed to be, she doubted that.

“You can fill out the paperwork when you’re up at the counter. I’ll have one of my little runts show you how the register works and where everything is while you’re up there.”

_ ‘While you’re up there’,  _ as though training was an afterthought.

“As for your hourly--what do you think it should be?”

“Uhhh,” Ichigo stared wide eyed. “Ten dollars an hour?”

“Sure,” Urahara shrugged. “That sounds about right.”

“Don’t you need to ask someone for permission first?”

“Who would I ask?”

“I don’t know--maybe the owner?”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” Urahara said, and for a moment Ichigo felt relief. This crazy man in the wrinkled kimono would go talk to someone sane and this would all get straightened out properly. Surely anyone who ran their own business had more sense than this Mr. Urahara.

“I  _ am  _ the store owner. Ten dollars hourly is fine--I’m sure it’s in the budget somewhere. Tessai will figure out the details.”

And with that, the man turned on heel and headed towards the front of the store. It was all Ichigo could do to keep up with him, mentally and physically. She worked a four hour shift that same day; a mix of learning how the ‘register’ worked  _ (which turned out to just be a calculator and a notepad for book keeping),  _ and signing legal documentation Urahara was eventually convinced was necessary  _ (and only so by a  _ very  _ tall man who turned out to be Tessai). _

Months later, Ichigo has the savings needed to move out from under Ms. Tamaka Sho.

  
  
  


 

 

“It’s not much,” Ichigo sighs, looking into her empty studio apartment from the doorway.

“But it’s ours,” her roommate twirls into the room, a spark of positivity in Ichigo’s slowly forming raincloud. “Ours to do with as we please. Our harbour away from home while we study our butts off.”

A small smile forms at reluctant lips. Yuzu Shiba was always good at turning a silver lining into a golden cloud.

  
  
  
  


 

Three years into a grueling medical degree, and Ichigo starts to worry.

Well, perhaps saying ‘starts to worry’ is the wrong phase. Yuzu was always so kind as to point out what she called  _ ‘worry wrinkles’  _ at the crease of Ichigo’s eyebrows. Finances, school work, her upcoming internship; the blonde found that there was  _ always  _ something to stress over.

In this case, however, she internalized and agonized that perhaps she had taken her college career at face value. Perhaps she had missed out on certain opportunities.

It is one week away from Christmas, and Ichigo Kurosaki could not be more lonely.

Yuzu had left to spend the holiday break with her family, just as more than half of the student body and faculty had done, and did every year. Before it had never bothered Ichigo. She had used the quiet time to catch up on studying and pick up extra hours from Urahara. She had even looked forward to the time she would have alone in her apartment, a small space she normally shared with Yuzu.

This year something was different. 

Ichigo trudged through ankle deep snow, glowering at the slush covered sidewalk. Few people passed her as she headed toward the heart of the college campus, but the few that did came in pairs. Couples. All bundled in bright colored clothing or holding gift bags for celebrating the season. They held hands, they threw snowballs playfully at one another; they kissed.

The blonde could only glance over, envy making her look and pride keeping it just a quick peek.

“This is stupid,” she grumbled to herself, kicking clumps of snow off from the bottom of her boots before she entered the college’s library. Ichigo just needed to keep busy; bury her nose in a text book. Useful, practical things. Not glamorizing a holiday or staring after every couple that crossed her path.

She had been mumbling that mantra to herself for the past several days to no avail. Extra hours at Kisuke’s Kandy Shoppe and reading  _ chapters  _ ahead in her classes had done little to smother the growing longing in her chest.

Ichigo walked to the very back of the building toward a separate section of quartered off rooms. Here, students could call ahead and make reservations to have a study room all to themselves. It was nice around finals, when the library was packed and no one knew how to keep their music down or their mouth shut. During the holidays they were always unoccupied. They were unnecessary, as the library was almost entirely empty during breaks.

Ichigo lived for this time of year. The farthest room to the left was a conference room, big enough for a study group. It had plush chairs, no windows, and a projector so students could practice presentations. Basically impossible to book towards the end of each quarter, it was nice to get free access when everyone else went home for the holidays.

It was Ichigo’s hope that hooking up her ipod to the sound system and studying to her junk taste in music on blast would distract her from the completely ridiculous, Christmas-induced pity party.

Ichigo barges into the room, not giving the occupancy sign a glance and reaching to turn on the light switch out of habit. Her gloved hand fumbles for several seconds with a switch already set to  _ ‘on’ _ before the fact the room isn’t dark registers. Confused, Ichigo looks up from glowering at her feet and is startled to see a man at the front of the room, apparently giving a practice presentation to an otherwise empty conference room.

Or, well, what  _ was  _ an empty conference room.

“Uh,” Ichigo says a heat rises to her cheeks. A quick look at the door shows the room is in use. If she had just  _ looked _ .

To his credit, the man just smiles, and with a voice wrapped in melted chocolate, gives a much better greeting.

“Hello.”

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” She gives a weak wave with the gloved hand not holding several very heavy textbooks.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, I’ve only just started,” the man says, looking briefly at the projector’s screen.

“I don’t actually--I mean,” Ichigo does not appreciate being flustered. She does not like being caught on the wrong foot and off balance. But she recognizes that she  _ did  _ very rudely storm into the middle of his slide show, and awkwardly, she shuts the door most of the way before taking up the nearest seat.

“Okay,” she finishes lamely, at a loss of what else to do or say.

Again, the man shows he is better at improv and general social adequacy. He turns away and continues with his presentation as though a sleep deprived mess of a woman had not stumbled into his conference room.

Ichigo sits through a twenty minute lecture on Donatello and his scandalous bronze interpretation of  _ ‘David’ _ . Despite the subject matter being centered around something Ichigo would usually find mind numbing, the slideshow ends up being fairly entertaining. If that’s the word for it.

The man is tall,  _ very  _ tall. Ichigo suspects he’d give Tessai a run for his money. Despite his height, he carried himself  _ gently _ , light on foot and careful with every gesture he made. His glasses and the conservative cream sweater he wore only served to further mello what would have otherwise been a very intimidating height.

His eyes were a deep a brown as his floppy mop of hair, which seemed all at once too long and yet styled  _ just so.  _ A look Ichigo could only think to describe as  _ elegantly disheveled.  _

When he spoke, it was like listening to a psychiatrist. Every word seemed orchestrated, hand picked. Ichigo wondered if that was just because he had been practicing this particular presentation a lot, or if that was just how the man normally spoke.

The man makes some long winded closing statement about the questionable sexuality of the artist, probably something to entice discussion in the classroom this slideshow was meant for, before turning his gaze directly to Ichigo herself. She finds another detail about the mystery student, now that his eyes were solely on her and no longer lingering on bullet points or pictures of a minute, bronze interpretation of a biblical figure.

His eyes, liquid brown and impossibly dark, were incredibly keen. Being the center of attention of such a look felt like being a butterfly pinned for study.

“What did you think?” He asks.

“What,” Ichigo blurts, before her brain can catch up with her mouth.

To his credit, the man only smiles, amused. 

“About the presentation,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” Ichigo fought the steadily returning color at her cheeks. “It was good. Very interesting.”

She cleared her throat, her voice cracking. She was not some freshman girl intimidated by a upperclassmen. Ichigo sat up straighter in her seat, more confident. She elaborated like the actual college educated adult she was.

“I found a few sections in the beginning trite, but then most presentations are, and since I don’t know what level class this is for I can’t honestly say if that’s a bad thing. You didn’t over crowd your bullet points, which is always annoying, and though art is really not my cup of tea, I actually found bits of this interesting. Turning the scandal of the artwork into the forefront seems wise. Probably overdone, like most slideshow topics, but I think it panders to the average college student just fine and it’ll hold the classes attention.”

The mans smile does not slip away, but it morphs into something more genuine than amused. For some reason this makes Ichigo’s heart  _ pang  _ strangely in her chest.

“Thank you,” the man says in his deep voice. It’s so honest it catches Ichigo off guard. Which is irritating since 90% of the last thirty minutes of her life could probably be summed up by saying  _ ‘this man catches her off guard’.  _

“You’re welcome.”

She decides to be bold, in retaliation. She had started to sweat ten minutes into the man speaking but was too self conscious to remove her jacket at the time. Now she makes a point to take off her coat, gloves, and scarf to make herself at home. She felt like she had earned her spot in the big, fancy conference room.

If it is a surprise to the mystery student, he doesn’t show it.

“My name is Sousuke Aizen.”

“Ichigo Kurosaki.”

A beat of silence. Ichigo pulls out one of her anatomy books and notepad. Aizen, for his part, leaves his presentation up and starts taking notes on index cards. She wonders if he’s taking her words to heart and making edits based on what she’d said about parts of it being ‘trite’.  _ Then  _ she wonders why she cares and promptly stops thinking about what the man is doing at all.

A few minutes pass before she caves.

“I don’t remember seeing you around campus.”

Aizen meets her curious gaze over the top of his laptop screen. Only his eyes and the top of his nose is visible with the way he is hunched over the table.

“I am fairly new here.”

Vague. Purposely vague, or innocently so?

“What’s your focus in study?”

“Anthropology.”

“Do you enjoy that course of study?”

Aizen chuckles, and Ichigo hates the way she sounds like she’s digging for information. The way she doesn’t actually know  _ how  _ to dig for information, and Sousuke seemed practiced in the art of answering incredibly ambiguously. Didn’t people normally like to go on and on and  _ on  _ about themselves?

“I do enjoy anthropology, yes. Though biology has also held my interests for quite some time,” he leaned away from his laptop, Ichigo again the center of his attention. “What about you, Ms. Kurosaki, what is your current course of study?”

“Pre-medical.” It was her turn to be vague.

“Ah, and do you find that field of study satisfying?”

“Absolutely.”

Another silence, but this one seemed different. A little less tense, a little more natural. A mutual respect forming. Ichigo found that talking to Aizen was a bit like talking with Yuzu, who she could safely say was her only true friend on campus. He was easy to speak with, sharp, and most importantly did not seem phased by Ichigo’s occasional lapse in manners. 

Ichigo’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Her alarm. It was time for her to pack up and start her shift at Kisuke’s Kandy Shoppe.

For the first time, Ichigo felt a muted reluctance to leave.

“I have to go,” she keeps it simple as she packs up her things. She thinks about just leaving it there, leaving the conference room, and not giving Sousuke a second look back. But Ichigo finds a genuine  _ want _ to muster up enough propriety for a proper ‘good-bye’.

“It was nice meeting you.”

It is so rare those words come out of Ichigo’s mouth, and rarer still she actually means them. As unlikely as it is given the size of the campus, she finds she would not mind bumping into this particular student again in the future.

“You as well,” and Aizen seems genuine enough--as much as Ichigo can tell from someone she has known for less than a hour. “Thank you again for your critique. I will take what you said to heart.”

A small smile graces chapped lips. “You’re welcome. Uh, bye.”

“Goodbye, Ichigo.”

The deep baritone of Sousuke Aizen’s voice reverberates in Ichigo’s head all the way back to her apartment to drop off her things, and even still it is there until she starts her shift at Urahara’s candy store. She won’t entertain the idea of them being  _ friendly  _ as their encounter will most likely be the only one of its kind, but she recognizes the loneliness she felt has dissipated, even if just a bit.

Energy has been revitalized into her step, and she supposes that’s the best outcome she could have hoped for from an awkward, chance encounter with a complete stranger.

  
  


 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

Ichigo hates Christmas. It’s cliche and she recognizes she is being childish, but the blonde has never been able to reconcile with the holiday. The behavior stems from the absence of the nuclear family model in her life. The instability. The atypical upbringing. 

Ichigo knows that one of her biggest flaws is her envy. Ironically, she gets  _ green  _ with it every winter. She just doesn’t see a reason to fix this particular vice. If Ichigo wasn’t getting irritated over Christmas carols and seeing happy families every corner she turned, she would be unhappy about something else just as petty.

And so, just like every year, Ichigo Kurosaki hunkered down in one of the very few restaurants open on Christmas eve, and stuffed her face with a greasy breakfast. It was her yearly treat--a present to herself. Ichigo took herself out to eat all the day before Christmas, and then she would hide away in her apartment like the Grinch the following day.

But this holiday… things go a little differently.

 

 

 

 

  
  
“Is this seat taken?” A familiar voice coaxes Ichigo from her carb-induced reverie. She looks up in surprise, fork of french toast halfway to her mouth. Sousuke Aizen stares down at her with a pleasant smile.

“Uh,” Is Ichigo’s immediate, intelligent reply. Syrup creeps down her fork’s handle and onto her fingers--an awkward few seconds passing by before the blonde could collect herself. 

“No?” She looks around the restaurant--a little hole-in-the-wall mom and pop shop--and sees several open tables. She stuffs the fork into her mouth, cheeks flushed, and glares down at her plate in embarrassment. What were the odds of running into Mr. Tall, Dark, and Weird again? And why couldn’t he get his own table?

“Thank you,” Sousuke said as he pulled out the chair across from Ichigo. “I was beginning to think I was the only person left on campus. Everyone else has left to visit family, it seems.”

“Why haven’t you?” Ichigo grumbled into the rim of her coffee cup, and immediately regretted it. She could hear the slow collision of a car crash--her terrible manners mixed in with  _ holiday cheer  _ and her general morning attitude.

If the man was offended, he didn’t show it.

“My family… We’re not very close aymore,” the hesitancy in Sousuke’s reply made Ichigo feel even worse. There was a kind of weight to his words. The kind that had a sad story behind it.

“Sorry,” Ichigo mumbled, embarrassed but thoroughly chastised by herself. “That was rude of me.”

“Not at all, I like when people speak their minds. Too often I speak with those who pick and choose their words like an orchestrator.”

“I think there’s a difference between speaking one's mind and being an ass.” 

“I would say it is more a difference between babying a conversation and satiating one's curiosity.”

A lull in conversation. Sousuke takes that moment to pick up the menu Ichigo had discarded earlier. 

“The coffee is good here,” she blurted. “It’s not the over-iced, overpriced garbage. It’ll actually wake you up, if you need it.”

Sousuke met her gaze over the menu, a subtle smile shining with amusement in his dark eyes.

“Thank you.”

He thanks her like something of significance was exchanged; like a starving man thrown a bone to chew on. So much sincerity in one word. Gone was the usual cynicism or sarcasm Ichigo had grown used to around the campus. Like a unicorn amongst a herd of jackasses.

“Yeah, I mean,” she kept her hands busy with her coffee cup; watched the hot liquid slosh in the mug like it was actually interesting. “It’s just coffee.”

“Not just coffee,” Sousuke corrected as he waved down a waitress. “Coffee with a friend.”

_ Is that what we are? _

The word sent a sort of thrill down her spine.  _ ‘Friend’.  _ Could you really be friends with someone you’d only just met? It didn’t sit right, but she also found she did not want to rebuttal his assertion. His  _ assumption.  _

_ You’re reading too much into it. He’s just being kind.  _

Sousuke Aizen was probably just as lonely as Ichigo was, considering the holiday. She decided she would give him slack from her normal, prickly self and not mince words. She could put her problems and her brooding on hold, for however long their impromptu-shared meal lasted.

“Still working on that power point?” Ichigo asked once the waitress had taken Sousuke’s order, shaking a stick at small talk.

“I’ve set it aside for now, actually,” he folded his hands primly on top of the menu. A man of his stature seemed strange in a place like this, greasy and syrup-sticky. Though his demeanor was soft, the air of him was noble. Ichigo wondered if he ate out often, or if in this case he had come out looking for any kind of companionship--even if it meant eating at the one hole-in-the-wall diner that was open Christmas Eve.

“Not much left to do but present. But things always come to a strange stand still in the winter.”

“I always get the holiday jitters,” Ichigo confessed. “Always wished my professors would just tell me what assignments would be do for the next quarter so I could get it done with all this wasted free time.”

Aizen chuckled, “I think you’re the only student that has ever complained about not having homework during Christmas break.”

Ichigo pouted, cheeks pink. “I’m the only student with any real sense then.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Ichigo said sternly, but the beginnings of a smile gave away her sarcasm. “If any one of these kids sat down and looked at how much these winter classes cost them, they’d be more grumpy and world-weary like me.”

“Very wise of you,” Sousuke nodded, playing along. “Working yourself to an early grave is the way our ancestors lived. We should all honor and uphold the tradition.”

A smirk broke free across Ichigo’s syrup-sticky lips. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

Their conversation carries on in the same, aimless manner. Nothing of real value is said, and yet the idle chatter goes on for another hour without Ichigo realizing the lapse in time. It isn’t until Aizen has finished his meal that the blonde becomes aware that they have spoken about  _ nothing  _ comfortably for so long. It feels nice; relaxing in way she hasn't felt since the first Christmas decorations went up last month, but she finds it also accentuates the isolation she has felt since Yuzu left to be with her family. 

Ichigo becomes quiet at the realization, so immersed in her thoughts she doesn't notice she's trailed off. Not until Sousuke clears his throat to gain her attention again. 

“Something bothering you?”

“What? Oh--no, not at all,” Ichigo lied. “I was just thinking about my roommate. She's out visiting family; they're all incredibly rambunctious, or that's how she has described them. I was imagining the mischief they've gotten her into. Yuzu is usually a very quiet person.”

Aizen seems to mull over her reply, humming along. 

“I apologize if I am being forward, but might I ask you out tonight?”

Ichigo’s proverbial hackles stand on end. “What?”

“There’s a small theater downtown,” Sousuke clarifies. “They play an old American classic every year on Christmas eve.”

Ichigo scowled, defensive. 

“And you just  _ happen  _ to have a plus one?”

“I volunteer there from time to time. I get tickets to special events in compensation. Normally I might be able to invite someone from campus, but with everyone gone for the holiday, I thought company might be a welcome reprieve for the two us of.”

“I--” Ichigo stopped herself mid-sentence, a sharp  _ no  _ at the very tip of her tongue. She was prickly by nature, and her knee-jerk defensiveness came from a childhood as an orphan with strange hair and  _ ‘unattainable’  _ aspirations. It was hard to trust anything at face value, or anyone. But Ichigo recalled the butterflies she had felt after their impromptu presentation, or how warm things had felt over their shared breakfast. Did she have a reason to refuse the invitation, when things had been nothing but pleasant between the two perfect strangers, and with the man's request so innocent? 

Ichigo’s hesitation does not phase Aizen in the slightest. He places a few bills on the table for his meal before standing slow, pulling his winter coat from the back of his chair.

“No need for an answer now. My attendance is habitual, by this point,” he looks down at Ichigo with the same pleasant smile he had worn the whole meal, no sign that her lack of answer had offended him. “If you would like to accompany me, I will wait in the lobby with both tickets until they seat everyone.”

Ichigo’s heart  _ ‘thumped’  _ awkwardly in her chest, a strange twang she couldn’t quite identify.

“Otherwise,” Sousuke turned to leave, taking the  _ warmth  _ Ichigo had felt with him. “I hope to run into you again on campus.”

 

 

 

 

Ichigo’s heart beats that same, curious  _ thump  _ all the way back to her apartment. With each pump of blood a small burst of adrenaline shot from her chest to her finger tips, causing a bout of anxiety with every singular beat.

_ What’s wrong with me?  _

It wasn’t like Sousuke Aizen was the first boy to ever pay Ichigo any attention. She wasn’t hideous, Ichigo could be a little vain and even say she was  _ attractive.  _ Her hair, which had caused her so much grief as a child, was ironically one of her biggest draws.  _ ‘Exotic’,  _ her last boyfriend had described it. It drew the eyes of many; a burst of color in a sea of raven locks and brunette tresses. 

Still, her mouth normally got Ichigo into trouble. Her stubbornness had doomed just about all of her previous relationships. It usually took someone as hard-headed and mouthy as Ichigo to even survive the first  _ meeting,  _ let alone to lead into anything parallel to  _ romantic. _

And yet--

Sousuke Aizen was a completely different  _ breed.  _ His gentle demeanor and seemingly endless patience gave Ichigo pause. He was like a stream: soft, benign, persistent. They were so different--oil and water. 

Ichigo found she could not help but to be pulled in by his magnetism, gentled by smooth baritone and carefully enunciated words.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Ichigo is digging deep into her closet, plucking out articles from the small pile of  _ nice  _ clothes she owned, wrinkled from disuse as they were. Her cheeks burn from embarrassment when she realizes what she is doing; that she has accepted the invitation without really giving it any real consideration.

_ What’s there to think about? It’s a shitty movie in a crowded theater… What’s the worst that can happen? _

Those thoughts follow Ichigo for the rest of the day, like a mantra, their drab nature familiar and calming. It follows her into the shower where she shaves just enough for the  _ skirt  _ she plans to wear, in front of the mirror as she tames the beast that was her hair, and down to the Uber that drives her downtown. It falters at the steps leading into the theater, however, and her heart begins to beat that awkward _ thump  _ in earnest. Adrenaline sending sparks throughout her limbs.

Ichigo  _ bucks up.  _ She takes a deep breath, gets a hold of herself. Eyes sharp and posture made to relax, she makes her way into the lobby of the theater. She wasn’t a delicate flower, wasn’t going to swoon, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated by a  _ crush. _

Those thoughts bring a scowl to Ichigo’s face, a grumpiness overshadowing the giddy excitement that had been building up over the course of the afternoon. How could someone she barely know stress her out so badly? Why was she  _ letting  _ him? Perhaps coming out was a mistake.

Sousuke Aizen stands poised in the lobby, secluded in a corner, almost regal if it wasn’t for the flimsy styrofoam cup sweating in his hand. Dark eyes travel an aimless route, lazily making their way over the crowd. When the older man notices Ichigo, sees her standing in the entry, he smiles warmly--eyes inviting.

The  _ thump  _ bursts into a whirlwind of butterflies, scattering from Ichigo’s chest to her stomach, making her limbs weak and her head dizzy. With a mind of their own, Ichigo’s feet carry her forward. Distractedly, she thinks this wasn’t a mistake at all. It felt, inexplicably, like the beginning of something. She didn’t know what, but the butterflies encompassed a desire to find out.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter.
> 
> Ichigo’s dress: https://is4.revolveassets.com/images/p4/n/z/ABOR-WD57_V1.jpg

Their first time is stupidly romantic. Ichigo could even say unnecessarily so. Sousuke would argue otherwise, that he had given the moment what it had deserved, but Ichigo was stubborn and no matter how hard he made her blush over the memory, she would not budge.

It was _stupidly_ romantic.

It starts when he buys her a ticket to the opera, of all things. Ichigo remains polite but puzzled; what on earth had she done to make the man think she was cultured in any shape or form? It’s their 5th date, not counting several meals they had shared together, since the movie theater. Ichigo, despite silently brooding that she would end up hopelessly bored, accepts the offer with a smile and a quick peck to the lips. What could go wrong, truly?

“I was thinking dinner at my place first,” Sousuke adds offhandedly. That makes Ichigo pause. She’d never been to his place before--nor had he ever been to Ichigo and Yuzu’s apartment. A part of her wants to say no, but a bigger part wants to see how the infallible Sousuke Aizen lived.

“Uh, sure. Do I need to bring something?”

“Just your smile and maybe a kiss?”

“You’re pushing it,” Ichigo mutters, blushing. They were at the point of hand holding and chaste (panicked) kisses. Sousuke never pushed for more, and the red head was too terrified of making a fool of herself to do much else. They were at a stalemate--one Ichigo dreaded the ending of. Eventually, she knew, something would have to give.

The fateful night arrives amongst a flurry of finals. Ichigo is a bit of a grouch from the stress when she sets off for Sousuke’s, but her mood quickly shifts as her Uber brings her to a very affluent neighborhood.

“This can’t be right,” she mumbles to herself. She has the driver double check the GPS. No, they were in the right spot. Well, Ichigo was at the right address. She felt too out of place to be where she belonged.

Ichigo makes her way up the steps to a _huge_ townhome half expecting Sousuke to have sent her the wrong address and to be told off by some stranger. Instead she’s greeted by a warm smile and a sweeping invitation.

“Let me take your jacket,” Sousuke offers, taking the article and putting it away in the _foyers_ coat closet. Because of _course_ he had one.

What was this, America?

The kitchen is clearly the heart of the home. It is _huge_ with sprawling counters and a broad island in the middle; all granite and stainless steel. Dinner is being kept warm in the oven, Sousuke explains. He grabs two wine glasses and pours some fancy moscato for them both.

Suddenly Ichigo feels underdressed--and that’s really saying something considering they hadn’t even made it to the opera yet. She had dressed up, of course, she wasn’t a heathen. Ichigo wore a simple black dress that showed enough cleavage to be considered feminine. She thinks back to some sequin monstrosity Yuzu had tried to make her wear and regrets saying _no._

“Uh, this is a lot,” Ichigo says, knocking back a truly unlady like gulp of wine.

“What do you mean?” Sousuke asks, and it’s way too innocent to be genuine.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t believe I do.”

A silent stalemate. Ichigo stares the taller man down and contemplates if her budding anxiety is legitimate enough to ruin their night. She decides, in the end, that she had never shut up for anyone in her life up to this point. If they were going to date Sousuke would have to get used to her mouth.

“You do, so stop bullshitting me. This place is ridiculous. Is it your parents?”

“It is mine.”

“How does a full time student afford a place like this?”

A beat of silence. Dread sits in the pit of Ichigo’s stomach. She realizes something.

“You’re not a student,” it is not a question because the answer is blatantly obvious. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”

Angry tears well in the corner of Ichigo’s eyes. She refuses them.

“I have never lied to you,” Sousuke said. “I never claimed to be a student, you assumed that on your own. I simply did not correct you.”

“You simply lied,” Ichigo wasn’t one for word play.

“It was dishonest of me,” Sousuke concedes without truly condeding. While he was aloof about the lying, he seemed genuinely concerned with Ichigo’s temper. The realization did little to quell it.

“I can’t believe the gaul. _Why_ did you lie to me?”

Silence again. This time it drags on. It is tense, Ichigo knows Sousuke is hoping in her anger she’ll ramble on. But though Ichigo had a temper she wasn’t stupid. She had asked a question and wanted a damn answer.

Sousuke sighs, a weary, nervous thing--sets his wine glass down on the counter. He fidgets, so unlike him, briefly with one of his rolled up sleeves.

“When I first laid eyes on you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Ichigo’s face turns red, and not from a blush.

“If you think some corny flattery is going to get you out of--”

“I am not lying,” Sousuke’s voice is unusually sharp. Ichigo’s mouth shuts with a _click_.

“Your nose and cheeks were rosy from the cold. Your hair was pulled back in the most haphazard ponytail I had ever seen. Your eyes had grown wide with surprise at seeing me in the office. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, in that moment you were the only person that existed.”

Sousuke slowly started crowding Ichigo, backing her into the island. Eyes sharp, mouth a thin line, she grudgingly allowed the movement.

“And you were so stubborn. You could have turned around and used another office, but instead you chose to sit and listen to a strangers lecture because that was _your_ study room and damned if you’d shy from it.”

Sousuke placed his hands on either side of Ichigo, pinning her in place. She stared up at dark eyes, still clinging fiercely to her anger.

“Despite your stubborn nature you also showed your intelligence and gentle nature. You listened to my entire lecture patiently. You gave me insight. You held polite conversation though it was clear your plan had been to quietly study on your own. I detest rudeness, and though you have a temper you’re are never impolite.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Ichigo hissed.

Sousuke smiled. “When you came bursting through the office door I wanted nothing more than to kiss you. As I went through my lecture I could not help but be captivated by your lips. When you stood to leave it took everything I had not to ravage you then and there.”

“That’s not exactly romantic,” Ichigo moved to push Sousuke away. He was leaning so close she could feel his breath across his face. It smelled like the deep red he had poured for them both. “That’s kind of creepy, Sousuke. Please back off.”

Another sigh, as thought _Ichigo_ was being the unreasonable one.

“I knew if I told you I was a teacher you’d never go out with me.”

“That’s kind of messed up taking my choice in the matter away.”

Sousuke hadn’t budged an inch.

“Seriously, back off before you really make me mad!”

Instead of backing away Sousuke cupped either side of Ichigo’s head. He looked her in the eye, face suddenly blank.

“Sousuke--!” Ichigo started, but the professor spoke over her with sharp words.

“Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu.”

There’s a burst of light and suddenly Ichigo is very light headed.

“It’s okay,” she hears herself say. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal. I wish you would have told me, but I understand.”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Sousuke replies. He lets a thumb play idly with Ichigo’s bottom lip. “Kiss me.”

Ichigo closed the small gap between them, lips pressing chastely against the professor’s. She made to pull away, but long fingers tangled in her hair and kept her in place. Sousuke’s tongue pressed passed her lips, and Ichigo opened up for him. They’d never done this before.

Ichigo had no clue what to do with the tongue in her mouth. Instead of fumbling like a foal, she just let Sousuke do as he pleased. His tongue swept her mouth like it was searching for something, over gums and teeth and sucking gently at her tongue. It all sent heat shooting down to her stomach. She felt herself getting wet, just from kissing.

“I want to kiss you somewhere else,” Sousuke said when he finally pulled away. Ichigo feels a _no_ at the tip of her tongue, but instead her hands reach for Sousuke’s and slowly pull them up the skirt of her dress. She left them at her hips, fingertips touching the fabric of her lace underwear.

“Okay,” she says, and the professor pulls her panties down until they slip down her legs and fall to the floor. Sousuke grabs Ichigo around the waist and picks her up, leaving her seated on the kitchen island.

“Lay back for me,” the professor directed. Again, Ichigo felt a _no_ just at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she laid back across the granite countertop, goosebumps forming from the coldness of it.

She feels Sousuke puller her dress up, laying the skirt across her stomach and out of the way. She’s completely exposed now, in the harsh light of the kitchen, with nothing to protect any form of modesty. Fingers pull her apart, and for a moment nothing happens. He’s admiring her, she knows. He’s pleased with what he sees.

A wet tongue licks a broad line from the base of her to her clit.

“Oh fuck,” it startles Ichigo. She’s a virgin. This is the first time anyone has ever touched her like this. The feeling is so alien and nothing like what she has been able to conjure with her own touch. It is so much better.

Sousuke pays attention to her clit before slipping his tongue inside. He fucks her like that for what feels like an blissful eternity. She absolutely soaked by the time he pulls away and uses a dish towel to wipe his face clean.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, and Ichigo again finds she doesn’t have the mind to resist.

Sousuke unzips his pants, pulls them and his briefs down just enough to pull himself out. He rubs the head against her, feeling the warmth and the slick, getting himself wet with her. He plays with Ichigo more, rubbing himself across her clit, pushing himself barely inside her before pulling back and smearing more slick over himself.

“I want you to ask for it,” Sousuke says.

 _“_ Please, Sousuke,” it’s out of Ichigo’s mouth before she can fully process the request.

“No,” the professor says. “I want you to call me ‘daddy’. Can you do that for me?”

He lines himself up with her.

_“Please, daddy.”_

He pushes himself inside, all the way to the base.

 _“Oh fuck,”_ Ichigo moans. “It hurts.”

“I know, sweet heart,” Sousuke shushes. He leans forward to pet through Ichigo’s hair, he hasn’t moved since the initial thrust.

“It’ll feel good soon, you’ll adjust.”

“I don’t think so. It hurts. It feels too big.”

“Just relax around me. Don’t tense up or you’ll make it worse.”

“Okay.” Tears well in caramel eyes. “Okay.”

Sousuke pulls back, gently pushing himself in again. They keep up a slow pace, intimate and loving, despite the pain Ichigo felt.

Surprisingly, Sousuke doesn’t last long.

“Ichigo,” he says, voice rough. “Ichigo, sweet heart, you feel good wrapped around me.”

Ichigo moans in reply as the pain ebbed and pleasure took its place. Sousuke picked up then, thrusting a little faster, panting. When he comes, he pushes as deep inside her as he can manage, grunting into her ear with the effort.

They lay like that for several minutes. Sousuke on top of Ichigo, buried inside though he had gone soft. Ichigo lets her hands travel, rubbing the professors back or playing with his hair. She thinks idly of the dinner left forgotten in the oven.

“I love you,” Sousuke says.

“I love you too.”

It’s the first time either of them had said this to each other. The timing seemed perfect. It was  _stupidly romantic._

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a dream; waking up horny does not lead to well rounded plots. I apologize while I'm ahead of this beast.


End file.
